The things you wish you said
by saxonvulture
Summary: John is preparing to move out when an unexpected visitor comes along. post Reichenbach


**My first Sherlock fan fiction. Kind of a boring story, and for that i apologize. i hope you enjoy it all the same.**

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"Are you sure you want to move John? I could offer you a discount on the rent, or you could find a new flat-mate." Mrs. Hudson was still trying to convince him to stay. That would make it the third time this week that she had said those exact words. "I really couldn't, there are too many… bad memories in this place." His excuse every time. John really couldn't stay in 221B anymore. It just wasn't healthy for him to hold onto the past. He still half expected to wake up and find Sherlock sitting in his chair, or for him to say something about everyone being idiots. It had been almost three years since the fall, and still John was holding on to a few unhealthy memories. Forget and move on. That was the best thing he could do for himself. Forget that he and Sherlock had ever met, that his life been completely changed when he met that man. John's psychosomatic limp had returned. His therapist had said it was because of the traumatic incident of seeing Sherlock die. This time John didn't have anyone to heal him, and had taken to walking round with his cane again. But moving out was painful too. As much as he knew it would be good for him, he just couldn't bring himself to leave these memories behind just yet.

The doorbell rang and Mrs. Hudson left to go see who it was. John continued sorting through things on the mantelpiece. His hand brushed against the skull and it fell to the floor. _Great._ He'd been trying to avoid looking at it. He stooped to pick it up and put it back on the mantle when a woman walked through the door. "I hope you're not contemplating Hamlet's life choices, John." John looked up and fumbled to place the skull back on the mantle. "Harry?" His sister smiled sadly at him. "Yep, that's me." She looked over at the two armchairs. "Can I sit down?" John swallowed and nodded. Harry looked at him quizzically "What?" John shrugged. "You were just the last person I was expecting to show up at my flat." Harry laughed at that. "So, what are you doing here?" John asked "I read you blog, John. I noticed ever since… you know…your friend, um- yeah. Well, you weren't writing at all. So I came to make sure that you were all right." John had gone into the kitchen to make some tea. "Hmm- yeah, I'm fine." He said this not facing Harry. "Stop it, John. Don't pull that shit with me. I may not be Sherlock Holmes, but I can tell when someone's been crying, and I know my brother." John stopped, and tried to say something, but nothing escaped his mouth. Harry got up, walked up behind John and gently touched his shoulder. He shrugged her away. "John-" Harry began. But John interrupted her. "Why? I just don't understand why he would kill himself." His voice cracked on the lasts words and his voice faded into silence. John would not cry. He promised himself that he would not break down. Harry took that opportunity to take John in her arms and pull him into an awkward hug. John didn't try to pull away this time. He let his sister embrace him as he cried. "Did you … love him?" "It's just a little too late to admit that. I'm never going to be with him." they both fell back into silence. "It wasn't your fault John. There was nothing you could've done." She spoke soothingly. "There was everything I could've done, Harry! I should have seen past the mask he was putting on and stayed with him. Maybe then he wouldn't have jumped." John pulled away and walked back to the boxes. Harry sighed. "John, I was thinking that you could stay with me once you move out." John just laughed at that. "Harry, we can barely stand to be in the same room together, I don't think either of us would survive the prospect of living in the same house. I would be grateful if you helped me pack." Harry walked over to a stack of boxes by the window." She picked up a dusty book from the table. "Do you want this?" John looked up and after some thought replied "No.". Harry turned back to the boxes. Her glance hovered on someone outside. "Hey, John, there's a man outside. He was standing outside your flat when I arrived. And he's still there, just staring… do you know him?" her brother limped over to see who she was talking about. "No… he could be another tenant in a different building. He does seem familiar though." The man seemed to notice that both Harry and John were looking at him, and turned to walk away. "He looks like… no, that's impossible" John mumbled, almost to himself. He watched the man's back and he walked down the street. That familiar gait. It was just too uncanny to be anyone else's. A small seed of hope planted itself in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, Sherlock was still alive. But reality chased that thought out of his mind and he turned away from the window. "Harry, I think I may take you up on your offer."

Fin.


End file.
